


Fifth Time's A Charm

by ElloPoppet



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A lot of sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Comfort, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Mistletoe, Shower Sex, Slow Romance, Top Clint Barton, but also a lot of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21897445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElloPoppet/pseuds/ElloPoppet
Summary: The first time they tumbled into bed together, it was less of a tumble and more a matter of Bucky pushing Clint against the nearest surface (which also wasn’t a bed and was actually more of a wall, but that’s neither here nor there).ORA peek into how Bucky and Clint go from hating each other to, well...not.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 37
Kudos: 286
Collections: Winterhawk Wonderland





	Fifth Time's A Charm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mariana_oconnor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana_oconnor/gifts).



> Hi there! This is my gift for the Winterhawk Wonderland Gift Exchange! This is the first time I've ever been involved in this, and there was a lot of pressure but this was also a lot of fun. I admire my giftee mariana_oconnor so much as a writer that I can't lie, I am feeling mighty nervous!
> 
> The fic prompt was as follows: Hate sex that slowly becomes the opposite
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, friend :) Happy Holidays!

The first time they tumbled into bed together, it was less of a tumble and more a matter of Bucky pushing Clint against the nearest surface (which also wasn’t a bed and was actually more of a wall, but that’s neither here nor there). 

Everything was too hot, too fast, rough but with permission. They were a volcano, the pressure of frustration, annoyance and at times downright _loathing_ having reached a volume which could no longer be contained. The heat between them spilled over during a screaming match in Tony’s lab, blessedly empty, its owner and primary occupant having left to bother Bruce in his own lab across the compound. Tony had run out of the alloy needed to repair the deep gashes in Bucky’s prosthetic…

“...because you had to fucking interfere, didn’t you? Has nobody ever taught you to leave well enough alone, Barton?! Fuck!” Bucky’s hands were in his hair, curled around where the waves began near his scalp, and Clint watched the knuckles on his right hand turn white as he pulled, curled and tugged in frustration. 

“If you would have been paying attention, _Barnes_ , I wouldn’t have had to save your sorry ass. Maybe I should have let you hit the goddamn pavement! At least I wouldn’t have to be hearing your bitching mouth when you should be thanking me.” Clint tried to keep his voice down and steady, aware of the deepening timbre as he worked around the itchy ball of anger tangled in his throat. 

“Thanking you? You messed up my arm with a grapple arrow, for Christ's sake. I woulda been fine, you asshole, if you would have just...left me ALONE, but you don’t seem to know how to do that. Serum, remember?” Bucky hurtled the last words at him with biting sarcasm, the tone of _you goddamn idiot_ that Clint knew so well and had heard so frequently from others. 

Clint felt his face fall and try as he might’ve to pull it together, the narrowing of Bucky’s eyes was the tell that let Clint know he had been made. 

“Fuck. You’re such an annoying goddamn _gnat,_ Barton!” Bucky yelled, still loud but with less heat and more...something that Clint couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

On instinct, Clint stepped forward and lurched to grasp both of Bucky’s wrists, yanking them from where Bucky was still stressing at his hair. Bucky looked startled and pissed off, and something in Clint snapped. 

“You know what? Fuck you, Barnes.” There was a level of malice in Clint’s voice that was unfamiliar to both of them, and Clint’s grip on Bucky’s wrists tightened, busting down the dam, letting loose the flow of lava. Releasing the pressure. 

Bucky moved forward, pushed until Clint’s back hit the closest wall, and attacked Clint with his mouth, a flurry of lips, teeth and tongue that Clint gave back as good as he got. Before long it was Clint’s hand screwed up in the length of Bucky’s hair, pulling back to sink his teeth into Bucky’s throat, to suck bruises that disappeared nearly as soon as they were visible. Bucky was frantic, unhinged in a way that was so contradictory to the controlled, tightly wound assassin that Clint was used to seeing, and it made Clint’s blood boil. 

There were harsh words spoken during the whole ordeal, questions asked and direct consent obtained between both of them as Bucky unbuttoned Clint as quickly as possible before dropping to his knees and swallowing him down. Bucky sucked him off as though he were racing, urging Clint toward climax expertly and messily. Clint returned the favor instantly, pushing Bucky to his back on the floor and bringing him to orgasm with his hand, pulling hard and slow, relishing in how it seemed to torture both of them until Bucky released over his fist. 

The whole thing lasted less than five minutes and left them in a sweaty, sticky, heaving mess of jumbled limbs and loud breaths. Clint didn’t know about Bucky, but his anger was gone and he was filled with a low hum instead, the lava cooled and ashen. 

Though Clint couldn’t speak for Bucky, he could assume that maybe he felt much the same as they put themselves back together, standing and wiping, tucking and buttoning. The silence in the lab was thick, as was the scent of sex, broken by Bucky looking over to Clint from the side and asking him the only question that mattered. 

“Gatorade?”

Clint nodded, and they headed to the kitchen together, screaming subsided.

*

The second time? Still not a fall, still not a familiar bed, but it was something better than hate fucking against the wall of Tony’s lab. Bucky had found release, an ease of tension and negativity, the first time he and Barton had gotten each other off. At the time, he hadn’t thought about the encounter as _the first time_ , but rather _the only time_. It hadn’t done wonders between them or anything; they didn’t share secrets or braid each other’s hair, but Bucky preferred their relaxed professionalism that became their norm after the fact. 

Due to stated professionalism, Bucky sincerely hadn’t expected the second time. While the first time felt like an inevitable blip, something that had to happen before they decimated one another, the next time they had sex came as a total surprise to Bucky. Not an unwelcome one exactly, just something that hadn’t crossed his mind. 

As he would learn, sex with Clint was about to start crossing his mind a lot. Frequently. _Constantly_. 

They were on a mission, and they were in agreement that it was the most boring fucking mission of all time. They sat beside one another, perched on the bedside of the queen mattress that they had moved over to the window of the hotel room where they were to keep watch. There was a 50/50 shot that their target would make an appearance between the hours of 22:00 and 4:00, and so far there hadn’t been so much as a glimpse of anyone remotely resembling the mark. Time had ticked forward slowly as they shared a bag of Twizzlers between them, steadying their rifles and scopes with one hand and snacking with the other. 

Bucky was on his second round of counting the blocks of asphalt on the sidewalk below when Clint broke their amenable silence at 1:30 in the morning. 

“Do you ever think about it?”

Bucky took a deep breath. “Specificity, Barton. We've talked about this.”

Clint shifted ever so slightly, changing his position for the first time in four and a half hours. 

“Do you ever think about...us? What we did in Tony’s lab?”

A wave of heat flooded through Bucky’s body. “Are you physically incapable of saying the word sex, Barton? Fucking, screwing, or as Steve would prefer it be called, fonduing?” 

Clint let out a short laugh. “Fuck you, Barnes. Fine. Do you ever think about that time we banged in Tony’s lab?”

Ah, dammit. Bucky couldn’t stop the twitch of his lips at Barton’s refusal to defer to any of his suggestions. He really was like a gnat. 

“No,” Bucky answered honestly. “Why, do you?”

Clint was silent for a few solid minutes. Bucky figured they had dropped it, and so he let it lay. 

1:47. “I can’t stop thinking about it right now, actually,” Clint said, his voice low. A shiver made its way up Bucky’s spine. Regardless, he did his best to fight against it.

“That’s because you’re bored,” Bucky retorted, shifting ever so slightly to relieve a growing ache in his flesh arm. Beside him, Clint made a humming noise. 

2:08. “But what if it’s really because I’m bored _and_ you’re hot as sin _and_ I can’t stop thinking about whether or not I could get you to misalign your scope by usin’ my mouth on you?”

“Fuck,” Bucky spat, feeling his cheeks redden. 

“Yeah, that’s kind of the idea,” Clint said cheerily, dropping position and setting his gun on the floor beside the bed. His joints crackled when he stood and stretched; Bucky could just see his movements from the corner of his periphery. For a solid few seconds Bucky held his breath as Clint dipped straight into view, carefully and slowly ducking beneath where Bucky’s rifle was positioned at the window. Somehow he managed to wriggle his body between Bucky’s knees and the hotel bedroom wall without so much as brushing the gun or Bucky’s body, and shit if that wasn’t impressive to the point of being arousing. 

“This is extremely unprofessional,” Bucky pointed out, his voice strained. He knew he was trying to remind himself rather than Clint, trying to keep hold of the situation as best as he could while not wanting to do just that, not at all. Because the truth of the matter was that now that Clint was staring up at him from between his knees (which had somehow spread without Bucky’s consent or thought), Bucky knew that he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it, about _them_ , either. 

“I would normally agree,” Clint said, reaching his hands upward to hover just above Bucky’s thighs. His hands hung there, so close that Bucky could feel the heat from them on his skin through his clothes, until Bucky gave the slightest nod. Clint’s hands dropped onto this thighs and started kneading, punching the air out of Bucky’s lungs. 

Clint continued. “As I was saying. I would normally agree that yeah, this would not be the best assassin behavior when trying to keep our eyes on a mark, but Nat commed in on my network to tell me that he’s been apprehended by law enforcement.” 

Bucky startled, dropping his eyes to Clint while holding stance with his weapon. Clint was grinning up at him, _the little shit_. 

“What the fuck, Barton? When was that?”

Clint’s smile grew wider. “Oh, about quarter after midnight or so.” He ran his hands up the sides of Bucky’s thighs now with firm, constant pressure. “And before you get all huffy about it, I didn’t say anything because I was trying to figure out how to, you know. Bring this up.”

Bucky cocked an eyebrow at that, the annoyance that had indeed been building up inside of him collapsing in an instant. “You made us sit here for an extra two fuckin’ hours because you didn’t have the balls to ask if we could fuck? Ya scared of me all of a sudden, or what?”

Clint answered quickly by way of moving his hands to Bucky’s fly, nimble fingers undoing his button nearly before Bucky knew what was happening. 

“One, no. Not scared, just not under any false impressions that you’ve been thinkin’ of me like I’ve been thinkin’ of you since the first time,” Clint paused, grasping Bucky’s zipper and waiting until Bucky nodded before completing the task of undoing his fly. As Clint started to pull at the hem of Bucky’s black jeans Bucky helped, raising himself just barely off of the bed, gun still poised at his shoulder, barrel resting on the stand. 

“Why would you, anyways. I mean, just look at you and then,” Clint waved a hand down his body broadly, “there’s me. Besides, I don’t wanna fuck, per se.” He dropped back down, having stripped Bucky’s briefs with his pants which were resting now in a pool at his ankles. Bucky chanced a look down and muttered a few obscenities under his breath; Clint’s pupils were blown black as he took Bucky in hand and wet his lips with his tongue.

“Honestly, I just can’t stop thinking about blowing you. It only seems fair, right?” 

Before Bucky could respond Clint was leaning forward, mouth opening to take Bucky in, but something felt...wrong.

“Clint, stop,” Bucky breathed, voice cracking. “Hey, wait.” And Clint did just that in an instant, just as Bucky knew he would, it hadn’t been a doubt in his head. Bucky keened at the loss of Clint’s warm, calloused hand on his cock, but still had the wherewithal to hit the safety on his rifle before breaking stance and removing the weapon from its stand, setting it on the bed beside him. 

“Aw, no fun,” Clint joked lightly, too lightly to hide the sudden self-consciousness in his voice.

Well. That wouldn’t do.

“You listen to me, Barton,” Bucky said sternly, leaning forward to lick into Clint’s mouth before he could think twice about it. He tasted like Twizzlers and _him_ , an undercurrent that Bucky remembered from Tony’s lab. From the _first_ time. When Bucky drew back, he felt a little dizzy.

“If you think I’m gonna let you suck me off just because, you’re wrong. Don’t talk shit about yourself, Clint. I haven’t thought about it because...well damn, handsome, because I thought it was just a one time thing. Didn’t realize a repeat performance could be possible.” Bucky hesitated on the precipice of _should I say what I wanna say?_ for a moment before taking the dive; after all, he could always blame it on being driven sex-stupid later on. “I can tell you for sure that I’ll be thinkin’ about the way you look right now between my legs, all pretty, for a long time.”

Clint growled and lunged forward, hands everywhere all at once, enveloping Bucky into his hot and spit-slicked mouth in an instant. As Clint worked him over with abandon and a kind of reckless enthusiasm that Bucky had never experienced before, all Bucky could do was grab onto Clint’s hair with his flesh hand and fist his metal counterpart into the comforter of the bed until it was over, far too soon. 

When they left an hour or so later, both fully satiated and yawning, Bucky made sure to leave an extra twenty on the nightstand to make up for the way he had shredded the blanket when he came.

*

They didn’t have sex the third time, but Clint would always remember it as the third time because although not as many body fluids were involved, it was far more intimate than the first two times he and Bucky had gotten together. 

It was Christmas Eve, and _because_ it was Christmas Eve there was a party at the compound. Tony threw a party for any occasion that he could possibly make fit, and most of the time Clint was down for it. President’s Day party had seen him waltzing onto the dance floor with a Lincoln-style top hat; Valentine’s Day would forever be memorable due to Clint walking around in tiny hotpants shooting suction-cup rubber arrows at everyone mingling at the party, playing the Cupid role perfectly. 

It was always the true holiday parties that saw Clint slinking off to a quiet corner more times than not, or latching onto one person the entire time. Typically it was Nat, because of course it would be. Last year it had been Steve and Thor, because watching Thor try to get Steve drunk had been amusing enough to keep Clint’s mind occupied, distant from everything that he always tried to avoid in his head. Barney. His parents. Holidays in the circus. Phil. The way his body tensed whenever he caught sight of a flashing blue Christmas light. 

The holidays could be jolly for a lot of folks. Clint just wasn’t one of them. 

This time around, Clint allowed himself to hang back and just watch the others, the rest of their misfit family. Nat and Bruce chatted at the bar, Steve was trying to teach Tony and Rhodey how to dance some horrendous dance to the jingly Christmas music. Thor, Sam, and Vis were deep in conversation with someone Clint recognized from SHIELD before SHIELD had fallen, and Wanda, Kate and Maria Hill were playing quarters (badly) at one of the many tables set up around what typically served as their open training space. It was...nice, Clint had decided. Everyone he cared about was in one room, warm and safe and whole. 

He was pointedly not looking for Bucky. Steve had all but taken each of them aside to remind them that this was Bucky’s first holiday season with his previous memories, and that he had been thinking a lot about his Ma and his little sister from way back when. He had even talked to Clint a bit about them, about how annoying Becca had seemed, what with her boundless energy around Christmas...and how much he missed her now, and would give anything for the brat to be runnin’ around talking about Santa, and fruit cakes and snow. 

He and Bucky had been sneaking into the territory of being friends ever since the hotel. It was good. Clint needed more friends, could always use ‘em. 

Much to Clint’s surprise, Bucky decided to make a stealthy appearance a few hours into the shindig, sliding silently next to where Clint was leaning against the doorway and extending a beer to Clint in greeting. Pleased, Clint took it and after taking a long swig looked over to where Bucky had made himself comfortable against the other side of the door frame. They were silent for a few minutes, sipping on their beers and simply watching. The lights hit them every now and again and even though Bucky was wearing sweats and a baggy hoodie, his hair barely contained by a hair tie that was losing elasticity, every time the lights gleamed off of his eyes or arm Clint couldn’t help but to think that the man was goddamn beautiful. 

“I wasn’t gonna come,” Bucky commented, breaking the silence between them. Clint leaned over a bit, having a hard time catching it over the music. Bucky took a step forward and placed his lips close to Clint’s ear. 

“Said I wasn’t gonna come,” he repeated, and Clint nodded. He jerked his head and they switched, Clint leaning over to speak into Bucky’s ear even though it was wholly unnecessary; super soldier hearing. 

“Why did you?” Clint asked, before tacking on hastily, “not that I mind the company.” 

Bucky looked over to him and they locked eyes. Neither said anything for a long, stretched out moment, and Clint felt something warm begin to buzz beneath his skin. He knew it wasn’t the alcohol, knew perfectly well what it was in fact, and a bit of panic sent a wave of chills through his body. 

“Had to,” Bucky responded. “I couldn’t just walk by after noticing.”

Clint blinked. “Noticing what?”

Bucky shifted his eyes upward and Clint followed. The molten feeling in his stomach shifted into something that felt surprisingly like butterflies, and a bark of laughter burst from his mouth. 

“You little shit!” Clint said, lips spreading in a grin as he looked back at Bucky, who was smirking. Even though it was dark and the lights were moving about, Clint noticed the flush that was making its way across Bucky’s cheekbones. 

“Yeah, well. Couldn’t resist. Figured that I didn’t wanna resist, if I’m being honest,” Bucky said before clearing his throat. “So. Am I way outta my lane here, or no? I mean _technically_ it’d be tradition to get a kiss from you, but. No pressure.”

Clint shook his head, taken aback at how the path of his night had shifted. “C’mere, you fuckin’ adorable little-”

Clint’s words were cut off by Bucky’s mouth covering his and oh, but jesus, this was...this was _different_. Bucky’s lips were soft on his and gentle, warming Clint’s own as he spent his time lavishing first Clint’s top lip, and then his bottom. Clint opened to Bucky without hesitance and his stomach dipped as Bucky started to massage their tongues together. Clint whimpered without meaning to, and reached up to cup Bucky’s face with each of his hands. Bucky stepped closer, sealing their bodies from their hips upward, deepening their kiss and placing his hands on the small of Clint’s back. 

They would argue down the road about how long they remained there, sharing kisses and breathing into each other until the lights came up, after which Bucky drew back and left after tossing a wink and a smile at Clint. Clint couldn’t recall exactly how long it had been; a few minutes or hours, or some length of time in between, but it didn’t matter really. It would be years before he would tell Bucky that he had reached up to snatch the mistletoe that had hung above them the entire time, pressing it and eventually placing it in his quiver to carry with him everywhere. 

*

Things didn’t change after that, not really. After the first time, they had gone from actively loathing each other to being respectful and professional. After the hotel, their friendship had started to blossom, and after the Christmas party there really was no opportunity for things to change, no time for something to grow between them, because all too soon into the New Year, tragedy struck. Didn’t it always?

As a team, when they were sent out on missions with enough information to form a solid plan of attack, civilian casualties and property damage was usually extremely low and most of the time non-existent. The same couldn’t be said when there was an active attack, when they had to be on defense rather than on strictly controlled offense. They did what they could to protect as many people as possible; that was the whole point, after all. 

When Dr. Doom set his sights on Manhattan during the first week of January, they barely made it in time to disassemble his army before they surged the Empire State Building. They hadn’t made it in time to prevent the pointless deaths of twelve civilians as the army plowed through the streets, uncaring of traffic or passersby. By the end of the nearly four hour battle, though they could claim that they were victorious overall, it did nothing to change the fact that Clint’s night ended with him carrying the body of a civilian man over to the paramedics, even though it was too late. 

They all reeked of death, grime and smoke. Not a word was spoken between them in the quinjet as they made their way back home to the compound upstate. What was there to say, really?

After they landed they walked silently into the compound and splintered off to make their way to their own apartments, Sam heading to medical to check out a possible hand fracture, Bruce trudging beside him to undoubtedly get hooked up to an IV for fluids as was standard after bringing out Hulk. Clint stood at the end of the hallway and watched them go until they turned the corner and disappeared. Clint leaned forward until his forehead rested on the door to his apartment, not wanting to stay on his feet but also not wanting to shut himself away from the world just yet. Not when he was feeling so...untethered. 

“Clint?” 

It was Bucky’s voice and a warm hand on Clint’s shoulder that tenuously reconnected him to the moment. He didn’t say anything, didn’t feel like he could, didn’t feel like he had to when Bucky started to knead at his shoulder. 

“Clint, sweetheart, c’mon. Let’s get you in the shower, yeah?” Bucky suggested. Clint nodded, tired though the thought of washing away the fight sounded incredible. 

“Your place or mine?” Bucky asked, so calmly and soothingly that it made Clint nearly want to cry. Clint sighed instead and took his keys from his pocket. 

“Since we’re already practically here,” Clint said, and Bucky dropped his hand after squeezing Clint’s shoulder gently. Clint let them into his apartment where they navigated directly to the bathroom without so much as turning on a light or kicking off their shoes until they were both inside the room, door closed behind them. 

Clint went through the motions as though he were alone; starting the water in the shower, toeing off his boots and pulling off his clothes before tossing them into a haphazard pile in the corner. He was down to nothing other than bare skin when he met Bucky’s eyes in the mirror from where he stood behind Clint. Breaking through the dense fatigue was a feeling of finality tinged with anxiety as Clint pondered if he should take the last step. Bucky was a friend who had been privy to Clint’s home, his mouth, his body and his thoughts. With that knowledge, Clint slowly reached up and removed both hearing aids from his ears and set them gently on the bathroom counter. 

“You comin’ in or what?” Clint asked as he stepped into the shower, both nervous and relieved that he couldn’t hear Bucky’s reply if he chose to give one at all. The water was already hot where it beat against Clint’s sweat-salty skin by the time the shower door swung open and Bucky stepped in behind Clint, letting in a burst of cool air as he did so. Clint’s body erupted in goosebumps and he questioned internally if it was from the cold or Bucky’s presence. 

The way that Bucky moved with Clint, not just in that moment but always, made it seem as though he had a link directly into Clint’s psyche and always knew what he needed. Bucky moved slowly, his fingers announcing his touch at the base of Clint’s neck before moving up into dirty blonde hair, lathering the short strands with shampoo. Clint dropped his hands to his side and leaned back into Bucky, who continued to massage his scalp as the shower filled with the smell of citrus. 

“It feels good,” Clint said, trying to keep his volume regulated. Bucky tapped on Clint’s shoulder and Clint turned around, tilting his head back to rinse his hair. When he opened his eyes Bucky was right there, face neutral save for the flush in his cheeks and the dilation of his pupils. Clint pitched forward until his forehead met Bucky’s clavicle and Bucky wrapped his arms around him immediately, shifting them until they were both under the beating water. 

It wasn’t frantic, not as it had been before. They cleaned each other slowly, aware of the other’s arousal but focused more on washing away layers of grime and trauma. It wasn’t until Clint had taken one of Bucky’s earlobes between his teeth and pleaded with a broken voice into Bucky’s ear “please, make me feel good, James, need to feel alive,” that Bucky took them both in hand. Clint sucked disappearing bruises into Bucky’s throat and chest as Bucky’s wide hand stroked them together, slick with soap and warm, so warm. Clint couldn’t hear Bucky’s moans but he could feel them in his own body, the vibrations and the water lighting him on fire. 

Clint came first, pulsing over Bucky’s hand and rigid cock, allowing Bucky to pull him through it until it became too much, too sensitive. Clint batted Bucky’s hand away from them and used his own to bring Bucky to completion, licking Bucky’s bitter ejaculate from his hand before the water could wash it away. Bucky kissed him regardless after saying something that looked an awful lot like “you’ll be the death of me” and Clint laughed into their kiss, wondering how he could be the death of Bucky when Bucky was bringing him to life.

*

As it turned out, the first time they would legitimately fall into bed together was on a Thursday night in March. There were no walls, no anger, mistletoe, boredom, or mortal ponderings to blame this time, the fifth time, the last time that they counted because who the fuck kept count after they started dating?

They were in Bucky’s apartment, lazing about after a spur of the moment lunch of pizza, watching some cheesy sitcom that Bucky couldn’t have given two shits about. It was drizzling outside and cold, too miserable to do anything else other than meander around the compound. Clint had shown up with the pizza boxes still in his pajamas, hair wet from a shower, cracking jokes about Bucky looking like a drowned rat given that he was still toweling off from his own late morning shower. 

Bucky wasn’t sure why it happened when it did. He hadn’t been fighting his feelings for Clint, nor had he been waiting for the ‘perfect moment’ to make some kind of heavy confession. Which turned out to be for the best, because the words escaped him without a moment of pre-contemplation or forethought. 

“I want you, ya know.”

Clint turned his head, eyebrows furrowed. 

Bucky shrugged. “Just thought you should know. Been wanting you for awhile now.”

Clint sat up a bit straighter. “Want me like...before?”

Bucky shook his head instantly. “No. Would rather court you the right way. You, ah, mean a bit too much to me to keep doing this kinda random sex thing. Want you, as in, want you to be my fella.” Bucky bit his lip, unable to read Clint’s poker face. “Only if you want me too, like that.”

Clint’s stoicism erupted into a broad, joyful smile all at once, and Bucky’s heart rabbited in his chest. Clint reached over with his left hand and Bucky instantly took it with his right, their fingers intertwining as though they did this all the time. 

“Take me to bed?” Clint asked, and laughed when Bucky tugged him to his feet instantly to do just that. 

They took their time undressing one another in Bucky’s bedroom, and when they tumbled into bed it resulted in instantly tangled limbs and laughter, quickly replaced with breathy sighs and deep moans as Clint worked Bucky open with his fingers and his tongue, lavishing him with physical affection while saying absolutely ridiculous things that made Bucky’s insides twist. 

“Gonna make sure it’s good for you, babe, so good. You deserve everything good, honey.”

“Be loud for me, Buck, don’t hold back that gorgeous voice of yours.”

“Oh, christ in fucking _hell,_ Bucky, I could come just from the taste of you.”

It was Bucky who took the plunge and started making dangerous declarations of loyalty, of need, of love as Clint filled him, over and over again until Bucky’s words became nothing but obscene whispers as he tumbled over first, the contractions of his body around Clint dragging his orgasm out quickly after, before Bucky could even return to his own body. 

Afterward they lay there, wet and sticky, Clint stroking Bucky’s hair as they caught their breath. 

“What happened to me being a gnat?” Clint asked, fingers still combing. 

Bucky snorted and thought on it for a moment. “You’ve upgraded. You’re one of those...what are they called, the ones that sing through the night? They’re pretty annoying little jerks but you miss them when they aren’t there, bein’ all noisy?”

Clint laughed and tugged gently at Bucky’s hair. “You callin’ me a cicada?”

Bucky smiled against Clint’s chest. “Yeah, that’s it. You’re my cicada. Which means you gotta sing me to sleep.”

Much to Bucky’s absolute delight, Clint started murmuring a melody almost instantly, and Bucky wondered how it had ever been possible that he had done anything other than love the sound of the voice that carried him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to hawkguyandthewinterdude for being a lovely beta!


End file.
